All I'm Saying there's a joke in here somewhere

This question is born out of my superstition habit of wishing airplanes a safe journey whenever I see one fly over. As I was coming home from work tonight, I was watching a plane coming in for a landing. I did my customary thought, then thought to myself, "What if someone really horrible was on that plane? Would I want it to have a safe landing then?" And then I thought, "But what if there were innocents on it too? What if Osama bin Laden and ten little babies were on the plane?"

So that leads me to today's question for discussion: if you were the pilot of a plane with Osama bin Laden and ten little babies on board, would you crash it? What if you knew ObL was about to perform some horrible act of terrorism the very next day, and it could be averted and thousands of lives saved if you crashed the plane? Would you do it?

My answer is in the extended entry.

Continue reading "Random Question"

Freya and I are having a Girls Night--Matt is away overnight at a meeting, so she and I went out to dinner tonight at Moshi Moshi, a new sushi place that opened near my house. Let me tell you--it was darned tasty. Admittedly, it is still only the fourth sushi place I have ever tried, but I really did think it was good. And provided I don't get food poisoning (and I don't think I will, but that's the litmus test for sushi in my book), it will go down as a place we frequent regularly.

Anyway, I ordered a dragon roll and one of those things with a piece of fish over a blob of rice. What are those called, anyway? It was yellow tail, for what that's worth. Usually when we go to sushi I give Freya some of the fish eggs and all the sticky rice she can eat. I gave her a piece of the dragon roll tonight. She took three or four bites and said, "That's tasty!" And then she figured out there was crab inside it. She cast the rest of it aside, ate the crab, and asked for another piece.

I know a high-grader when I see one, so I decided to limit her to one more piece (while I ate the rest of the fish and avocado, rice and seaweed in the first roll), and she knocked the crab center out and scarfed it down. She didn't want any more of the fish, but then decided she wanted to try pickled ginger. Not surprisingly, she didn't care for that as much.

Anyway, Moshi Moshi was certainly worth the trip--even worth braving the blizzard conditions tonight! And my little high-grader and I will take Daddy along the next time...maybe she'll be able to snooker him for more of his crab.

I haven't been doing so good on my Couch to 5k. I have really been derailed by sickness. First was the 2 weeks over Christmas and New Year's, where we were all knocked out by the Cold From Hell. I got a few workouts in after that, but last week was knocked out again by the Creeping Intestinal Crud That Wouldn't Go Away. Sigh... I was back in the gym finally this afternoon, but I just gave the treadmill a jaded glance and moseyed over to the elliptical, then finished up with a solid weight workout. Blah. So I think I'm still stuck somewhere in Week 5 of the running program. What a champion.

In other news, Freya seems to be teething. It feels like we've been waiting forever for the 2 Year Molars (lots of capitalization today), and maybe, maybe they are finally breaking through. Maybe. It feels like her lower gums have split, and perhaps by tomorrow some teeth will be poking out. She's been saying, "My tooth hurts," and then she has Matt or I give her a kiss, because kisses make everything feel better. Poor little puddin'.

Oops, she's on her way downstairs. Gotta go.

I had the strangest massage of my life yesterday. I've been in the market for a new massage therapist for a couple of months. I'd been going to my doula, but it was quite a drive to get to her and I hated having all that drive time to tense up again before I even got home. So my sister-in-law got me a gift certificate to a place here in town that has quite a few different LMTs. I called last week to make an appointment and told the receptionist that I was looking for someone who really did a good job, since I'd like to see someone regularly that I like.

Well, it was looking good in the beginning. The therapist was young but not too young, and she had what sounded to my provincial ears like a Upper European accent. I shouldn't have let the accent sway me: by the end of the massage I was thinking it sounded less like an exotic, non-mainstream kind of persona and more like Helga the Goat Wrestling Borscht Queen. And I was the goat.

I've always heard that massage should occur in clockwise motions because that's the way your blood circulates--so counter-clockwise kind of bunches up your flow. Ol' Helga went both directions. That was the least of her inconsistencies. She'd work one area and not do the opposing side, or she'd use one technique on one hand and a completely different one on the other. It was kind of jarring. Oh, that reminds me...THE PRESSURE! Holy crap. I felt like I was stuck in my washing machine on a dry cycle. I know the client has a responsibility to tell the therapist when there is discomfort, but I have to admit that I feel like a wienie if I do. So I gnashed my teeth and rolled my eyes instead.

And you know no matter how not great a foot rub is, it always feels good? Yeah, it didn't feel good. Not even a little bit. It was just too hard. She kept reefing on one spot right below the ball of my foot on the bony part (she was big on rubbing my bones and joints) and I thought, "It's gotta be some kind of reflexology thing. She's getting a spot that is just key to my whole system." So once the massage was over and I was getting dressed, I hopped up to check the reflexology chart hanging on the wall. I knew it would be enlightening. Yeah, that spot was what corresponds to the epiglottis. And you all know what problems I've been having with the horrific cramping of my epiglottis lately...

So after all was said and done and I was taking my hammered carcass home, I realized I actually felt pretty good. It was a grueling, painful experience. But somehow, some way...it worked. Not that I'm going back. Thank you very much.

I don't know if you've all noticed (or if I'm just hypersensitive), but there are a LOT of people on my blogroll who have either just had their second child, or are about to within the next 6-8 months. These are all folks who were pregnant around the same time I was: Nadine, Reesh, one who hasn't made it entirely public yet, and (though their first pre-dated mine by a fair bit) the Cactus Couple.

That makes me feel like sort of a slacker.

But here's the deal...I don't want another one. I like the one I have just fine. And that's not really why I don't want any more--it's honestly about selfish reasons. I feel like I am a really good mom to one. But I'm not sure I could be anywhere near as good to two children. Motherhood wears me out. You have your obvious newborn time when the baby is learning how to sleep on the outside of your body, and that takes a while. And if the baby is like Freya, sleep still doesn't get particularly good until about 20 months. There's the energy spent chasing a toddler. There's trying to keep up with the added household chores. Not to mention that whole job thing.

Folks ask me why I don't want to be a stay at home mom. I say, "Are you KIDDING? Work is where I go to rest!"

So Freya probably isn't ever going to have a sibling. But maybe I'll get her a pony someday to make up for it. No, that isn't true. Ponies are mean as hell. I know that from personal experience. And I had to suffer a younger sibling too.

I also look at it from a financial resources standpoint. Childcare for one currently costs me $525/month, and adding another child...I don't know how we could possibly afford it. But with one, I could feasibly put Freya into a very nice private school if we decide not to go the public route.

I definitely tip my hat to all of you who are strong enough to have more than one. You are way, WAY more willing to sacrifice than I!

I'm writing this post specifically for my niece and nephew, Morgan and Jordan Bartholomeus. The rest of you are welcome to read it--it's just that I can't think of any other way to possibly contact them.

Jordan was born when I was almost 16 years old. He was my little buddy from the get-go. Morgan came along 3 years later. I was about as close to them as an aunt can be--I was the perfect age to be my sister's babysitter, and I honestly just went to see them to hang out with them anyway. We only lived a few miles apart, and with them was where I wanted to be. I even lived with them for a little while after we'd all moved away from my hometown.

It's hard to express it here in a blog post, but it would not be amiss for me to say that those two little kids were the most important thing in my life. As I started to realize that I would not stay a Jehovah's Witness for the rest of my life, the biggest conflict and woe that I had was that the kids (and of primary importance, so were their parents) were being raised as Jehovah's Witnesses, and that when I left the religion, I'd likely never be allowed to see them again. I put off leaving the religion for quite a while because of that--how could I tear myself away from those two little ones? But I couldn't procrastinate forever, and the day I announced to my family that I was leaving was the hardest day of my life. Without question though, the worst part was the moment the door of my sister's house closed behind me with the kids on one side and me on the other.

I have shed thousands of tears since then from the ache in my heart where Jordan and Morgan are. He was six and she was three, and almost thirteen years have passed since then. The last time I even saw pictures of them, they were probably twelve and nine. I have no idea what they are like, what they like to do, what their dreams are. And I have no idea what they think of me. I can only imagine that they have anger toward me for leaving them, that they don't understand why I left, and worst of all, that they might have the same view of me that many others still in the religion have--that I am evil. Literally.

But... I know what it is like to be raised a Jehovah's Witness and have questions about the faith. And I know how many Witness kids there are that stay in because of their families, even when they no longer believe. Where else can you go and what else can you do when your whole life has been about one thing, and then you walk away from it? You're shunned and ostracized by former friends and by your family. That terror alone keeps you there, sometimes forever.

So this post is to let these kids know, Jordan Bartholomeus and Morgan Bartholomeus, that I'm out here. I'm not evil, and I love you. I haven't forgotten you for one minute and I miss you. And if you ever need my help, I am here. E-mail me at allimsaying AT gmail DOT com. And if you don't need me--if you are happy and comfortable with where you are--still, please know that I love you and want nothing but happiness for you.

The other night at the dinner table, where, coincidentally, Freya was taking a huge poop in her diaper...

Me: You still pooping, Freya?
Freya: Yeah. *grunt*
Me: Must be a big one.
Freya: No. It's a tiny one.
Me: Oh.

I have foiled the Soup Nazi today! Thirty-six quarts of soup were exchanged today at my Soup Swap. People seemed excited about my Green Chicken Curry soup. I hope they stay excited. I was in a hurry when I put my quarts into the freezer last weekend, and they were all in old yogurt & salsa tubs. I didn't label them. So when I pulled soup out of the freezer today, I realized I was actually looking at seven quarts. That meant that one of the quarts was actually turkey broth. On its own, homemade turkey broth tastes a lot like dishrag soup. So there I was with my guests arriving, pulling the lids off my potential soup/broths, eyeing each one and trying to distinguish features. The sniff test will hopefully have been successful and everyone got soup.

We had a Telling of the Soup where each person explained why they chose their particular recipe, and then voted on the best Telling. The winner received a nifty bamboo spatula and an adorable little cloth grocery bag that I found at the Boise Co-Op. The winner was my next-door neighbor, who had made a sort of cioppino. She told the story of how she was born and raised on one of the Florida Keys and her father was a fisherman. To supplement the family income, her mother and her sisters and she would all take some of the day's catch and cook up homemade fish chowder (the red, tomato-based kind) and sell it at her father's dock. So this is their heritage family recipe! How cool is that? She did tell the story a lot better than I did.

Anyway, I think everyone had a great time and I'll probably try to do it again this fall when we've had a nice, long growing season and we can restock our freezers for winter.

This should have been a no-brainer decision for me. But it wasn't and I think I chose unwisely.

So my take-home lesson is this: when engaged in a heated debate with a person on a message board, if that person doesn't know who you are and you do know who they are, you don't have to give away your identity out of some misguided notion of leveling the playing field or what the hell ever the motivation was. KEEP THE UPPER HAND!

Back story: there is a certain group of people that I have no love lost for. One of their own was featured in a negative light in the local paper recently, and I made a couple of snide remarks about the community as a whole. Someone suggested I didn't know what I was talking about; I gave some information away that I did, in fact, know what I was talking about. This led to further , "Then I should know you" challenges, and I eventually gave a very small clue out. Then I walked away from the discussion.

Second lesson: stay away.

But nooo, I had to go back and check it just one more time and sure enough, there was a snide comment about, "Oh, I know who you are now and it is all PERFECTLY CLEAR." Which just put me up on my toes even more.

At least I've continued to stay away, right? So I've got that much sense. Of course, a truly wise person probably wouldn't be writing a blog post about it...

I'm tired of being in the kitchen. Really. I'm hosting a Soup Swap next week. The gist is that you make 6 quarts of soup, freeze them, and then swap them out with the other attendees. You cook once, then end up with 6 quarts of different kinds of soup.

It took forever because it is such a huge amount of soup, but I managed to get mine done: green chicken curry soup. It's yummy--and it definitely has a little bit of a bite to it. It has coconut milk, chicken, green curry (duh), lime juice and lots of chicken broth.

Then I noticed that one of our packages of good beef had come unsealed in the freezer, so I'm also doing a pot roast right now. Seriously, I was exhausted after all that.

At least we should have several days worth of food ready to go now--especially after getting all my good soup next weekend.

Every day Freya is at school, she has what we call a "buppy report." Buppy being her word for a diaper, and the report talks in part about what kind of action she had in her diaper during the day. It also talks about what activities she did and what her moods are. There was a note on today's report that said at one point she made a little whimper and told one of the teachers, "Freya's mommy not coming back..."

Well didn't that just make me want to die. Drop-off has been rough this week--she starts crying and says she wants to go home. I stay a while and talk with her. I tell her that mommy always comes back, that we are a family and we love her, and it's just that Mommy and Daddy have to go to work and so we take her to school where they will take care of her. Drop-off today was actually a little better, and I just don't know why she'd have felt like that. I've been wracking my brain trying to think what could be going on lately to make her feel insecure, but I can't come up with anything. Maybe it's just something developmental on the inside that we won't ever know. But...jeez.

On an added WTH, Matt took our PC in today to get the problem diagnosed. They found that we had a blank disk in our hard drive and that the computer was trying to boot with a disk in the drive. That might explain why it wouldn't reboot past a certain point, but does nothing to explain why the computer was jumping into involuntary reboots. Blargh! At least they didn't charge us.

Honestly, these Terrible Twos are getting to me a little. She's so...so...mercurial. We didn't have anything thawed for dinner tonight, so we decided to go to the nearby Bajio Grille (yummy Mexican, but not gringo Mexican--Leilani's mother spoiled me in that regard).

Freya did not want to leave the house. I tried all the tricks: redirection, distraction, explaining what we were doing and why, and nothing stopped the squealing. "Nooooo, don't want to go to dinner! Nooooo!" I finally got frustrated, bundled her into her shoes and coat despite the whining, and we set off in the car.

She squealed the whole way there and at one point Matt suggested we get our food to go, so that at least the other patrons didn't have to endure her hypersonic emissions. But as soon as we rolled up to the door, she stopped. She sat and ate an almost squeal-free dinner with us. And then it was time to leave. "Noooo, don't want to go home! Nooooo!"

Here we are at home. It is almost bath time, and I know exactly what I am about to hear. "Nooo! Don't want to take bath!" And then she'll settle in and have a good time, right up until it is time to take her out of the tub.

Thank God it's almost bedtime. Toddlerhood is exhausting--even, I suspect, for the toddler.

Dear Freya-bug,

Just a month away from your second birthday. One day last week, I walked in to your room to pick you up after your nap. You said to me, "More Christmas presents?" and I said, "No, but your birthday is coming soon and you get presents for that. What kind of presents would you like?" You thought about it for several seconds and said, "Share birthday with Grover. Give him presents and treats." It was so sweet--you love the dog and want to share your birthday with him. You spend a big part of your time trying to get Grover to lick your face or hands. You especially like it when I hold you upside down and then get Grover to wash your face. It makes you smell like stinky dog spit, but you love it.

You really wow us with your speech. We were riding in the car the other day and you said, "Daddy, please turn heat down." Your father and I looked at each other in shock--you not only realized that you were too warm, but you noted that Daddy had control over the heater and could put all of that into words. This ability to speak and understand so many things is both a huge advantage to your father and I, as well as a huge frustration to you because your mind is clearly working way ahead of your ability to name words and feelings. So you get upset when you can't adequately tell your dad or I what it is you want, and you resort to squealing and yelling, flapping your arms and stomping your feet. If we can get you calmed down enough, you can often use your words to tell us what you want or where you hurt. But it is also really hard for Matt and me to keep our patience while you're having a tantrum. This has been probably one of the most difficult parts of parenting you so far. You really do have a sweet heart, but you also don't really appreciate being taught the social niceties when you feel like they're getting in your way.

You are also hugely into doing things by yourself. You want to pick out your own clothes in the morning, and you want to put them on without help. If you're clearly tangled up in your shirt but have not yet accepted that fact, we do not dare try to help you until you ask for it. If we do, you
get very angry and shout, "Freya do it by h'sef!" It is my hope that letting you do it by yourself will help you learn to do these tasks that much more quickly, and that I'm not just creating a kid who is going to be demanding and overly-independent. It is such a knife edge to balance; to
let you grow with as few limitations to your natural development as possible, and yet keep you from turning into That Kid.

You're a huge challenge, but I think we are up for it. And I think that your daddy and I pose a huge challenge to you, but in the evenings when we come home and you yell "Mommy!" or "Daddy!" and fling yourself into our arms, we know that you're up for that challenge too.

Love you forever,
Mommy

I seriously have to think I'm under a bad star right now. Except that I checked, and this sort of thing is supposed to happen when Mercury is retrograde, and that doesn't even happen until January 28! If it gets worse then, I am so screwed.

You're wondering what the hell I'm talking about, aren't you?

It is the sudden, fatal demise of half of our appliances. Since the first of December, we have killed TWO coffee makers, a toaster, the dishwasher, and our computer. The first coffee pot died, we upgraded, that one died, we really upgraded. The most recent one has only been in action for a day and a half, so we're cautiously optimistic. The dishwasher went tits up and it cost $144 to repair that sucker.

And now there's something going out in our computer. Something about BIOS and ACPI or something like that. It might ultimately be the motherboard. God knows what that's going to cost.

Seriously, if you don't hear from me, it's probably because the microwave exploded. Really, it's probably just that the computer didn't pull a Lazarus (like it has this evening) and we're offline for a few.

The last time we'd heard from my uterus, it was recovering from carrying Freya around for 41 weeks. It had done a good job and deserved a rest.

It took a long, long rest. In fact, it wasn't until today, nearly 23 months after Freya's birth, that I had my first period. Not that I missed it--not at all. So I was glad that the combination of my already-wacky hormones and extended breastfeeding had worked to keep it away.

I have to admit, I felt a little proud when I realized what had just happened, kind of like that first day in school when I was 13 and I had reproductively entered womanhood, in a way. That little glow lasted about 15 seconds. Then I remembered what a pain in the neck this whole process is.

Bleah.

About a month ago, Coincidence took a hand and demonstrated to me that a certain former boyfriend of mine still looks awfully damn good.

Today, Fate stepped in and reminded me that he's still a dumbass.

Sometimes you can't ask for more than that.

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope your first day has been a good one. Ours has not been bad.

First, we're all finally recovering from our colds. Freya has been doing a lot better for several days now, but Matt and I are showing noticeable improvement. Thank God. My pinkeye has cleared up, thanks to the fact that I still had Freya's pinkeye prescription sitting around. That's right, I was sharing Freya's eyedrops. Not that she was using them anymore, nor will she use that bottle now that I've contaminated it.

My dad came over and hung out for an hour or so this morning. I think Freya was overjoyed to see a different human being--she's mainly just been with Matt and I for the last 10 days, with the exception of dinner at my brother's house on Christmas, and that's got to get a little old for her. So she had a great time with Grandpa.

After her nap, we loaded up and went to Kohl's, which is Freya's grandma's favorite store--I'm pretty glad they finally made it to Idaho. I scored their last set of King sized flannel sheets for $32 and picked up a few other odds and ends.

We came home and Matt put a turkey into the roaster, and I cooked mashed potatoes and horseradish-parmesan carrots. Very tasty! We just enjoyed some Schwan's chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream, and now the Peanut is sitting on my lap watching YouTube.

2008 is off to a good start for our family--I hope it is for yours, too.